


Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?

by Romanumeternal



Series: Random stories from the People's Republic of Rome [15]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate History, Alternate Universe - Ancient Rome, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Law Enforcement, Corruption, Dystopia, Moral Ambiguity, Moral Bankruptcy, Morally Ambiguous Character, Non-Sexual Slavery, Slavery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:46:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28098651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Romanumeternal/pseuds/Romanumeternal
Summary: I started this series on my LiveJournal about two, very different, Vigilium officers (hence the title). You can either read it there, or wait for the New Special Edition Re-Release Directors Cut (coming soon!).Anyway, this uses the same characters as in that series, but this is a stand alone story.Slight warning: This is probably amongst the darkest stuff I do; the characters are enthusiastic supporters of a neo-fascistic slaveocracy, and their value system is both very different too, and worse than, ours.  They aren't meant to be nice, noble or admirable people, you shouldn't approve of their actions, etc. Its tagged 'dystopia' for  a reason.
Series: Random stories from the People's Republic of Rome [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1116372
Comments: 9
Kudos: 6





	Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?

Inside the warehouse it was stifling; the air thick with sweat and heat and humidity; rich with an admixture of odours, none of them pleasant. A faint smell of overboiled vegetables, the harsh chemical stinks of chlorine and ammonia and heated plastic, the whiff of sweat. Throughout this, the sound was never-ending; an orchestra of machinery; from high pitched whines to loud, metallic bangs, shot through with organic sounds - curses, shouts, barked orders.

There must have been perhaps two hundred men and women in the warehouse. Of those, perhaps one hundred and ninety flinched the moment they saw us; or more specifically saw our black uniforms, and returned their gaze to their work-stations; fear and hatred and resentment obvious on their expressions. After all, it was mostly men in the same uniforms who'd sent them to this place, one where they'd most likely work until their hearts gave out.

My hand tightened slightly, on the hilt of my shock-baton, though that was more reflex than genuine caution. No matter how much the average delictor - the incorrigible criminal, the innately disobedient slave, the perennial runaway - might crow how death is preferable to life in such a place, most of them don't, in the end, believe it. I've no doubt that they would have gladly torn us limb from limb if they could, but that would be suicidal. Besides, the punishments for even an appearance of truculence in such a place are dire. 

The remaining ten men watched us curiously. Like us, they wielded shock batons and sticks, and three, I saw, had rifles in their hands. Visitors were no doubt rare in such a place. They looked better fed, and were certainly better dressed, than their charges; and all ten were bulky, powerful looking men. Overseers, I reckoned - although more than likely a few(though not the ones with rifles) were slaves themselves; perhaps even former delictors who had risen from the gutter. It does happen.

One of them - armed with a rifle, and slightly better dressed than the others - walked towards us. 

"Salve, citizens" he said, his eyes widening very slightly as he noted my colleague was female. He looked at us, frankly. He was running to fat, but, I fancied, there was muscle under that blubber. And, judging by his posture, a substantial amount of arrogance. "What brings the Vigilium here, friend?"

I flashed him my badge. "Internal Affairs. Senior Invigilator Aurelian here. I'm here to speak with - whoever's in ultimate charge here." 

He hawked and spat. "That'll ultimately be some rich bastard in the fucking capital, won't it? Not sure if I can help you."  
I wasn't in the mood for Plebeian Front style social commentary. It wasn't my idea to be here at all. 

"Don't piss around with me, I'm not in the mood."

He looked at me, levelly, obviously not terribly impressed. No doubt here he was a king in his own right, and rarely encountered anyone who didn't grovel to him- or at least, no one who didn't grovel to him whom he then could not have whipped senseless. Years of brutally overseeing hundreds of slaves, I've found, can warp one's social skills. 

For a moment, I toyed with the idea of arresting him - a night in the cells, and a courtesy beating if he got too mouthy - might remind him of the respect due to the Vigilium. But, in fairness to him, if I arrested every citizen who treats us with contempt, the entire Republic would be made up of nothing but prisoners and Vigilium.

Besides, I didn't want to be here. And the last thing I wanted was to extend this pointless errand by filling out some paperwork and justifying how his rudeness crossed the line into 'Wilful Insolence towards an Agent of the State". 

"Alright, friend" he drawled. "Trusco is the manager" he said, pronouncing the last word in much the same words as he might say "sexual deviant" or "chronic masturbator". Employee relations here, it seemed, could be better. 

"I'll see him then" I said, and then couldn't resist adding "I'm here to speak to someone with authority. Not just anyone"

He glared at me, and said nothing. I wondered vaguely which delictor he'd take it out on later, and found I didn't much care. I despise needless cruelty to slaves as much as the next man, but, if I'm honest, I felt little sympathy for the wretches here. 

I glanced over at Tertullia, but her face was utterly devoid of expression. She, I knew, was naturally soft-hearted; she'd narrowly escaped being born into slavery herself; but if she was at all discomforted by what she saw, she didn't show it. That said, some of the strongest feeling against delictors comes from other slaves. The idea of offending a slave is of course laughable, but if I wished to do so, I could do worse than compare one of the household maids, much less the cook, to such. 

We walked through the warehouse, none of the delictors so much as daring to glance at us. They were all, fundamentally, similar in appearance, whether they were man or woman, old or young. Thin, pale, unhealthy looking, with ragged, worn clothing, standing hunched over their work stations, performing the same few movements over and over. More than a few were branded, with an F or R or D or K; reminders of their past crimes. 

"In here" our guide said, indicating a metal door. He knocked twice, and then opened it.

"Boss. Vigilium" he said, simply.

There were two people in that room. One was a pale looking, slatternly creature; with a tired face and heavily pregnant; dressed slightly better than the other delictors. Tertullia's mouth twisted slightly in dislike when she saw her, although I paid the slut no mind, instead focusing on the slender, nervous looking man, in a faded toga, at his desk. He fiddled with his glasses and then, as he took in our uniforms, his face assumed an unctuous smile.

Our guide shut the door behind us. I didn't bother to check if he was eavesdropping; as frankly I didn't care. 

"Citizen Trusco?" I asked. He nodded, and opened his mouth to speak. I wasn't in the mood to hear it.

"Send the slave out" I ordered. He swallowed; was obviously about to say something tedious - and then nodded.

"Get out of here, bitch" he muttered. The woman threw back her head, sniffed, and then walked calmly towards the door. Precisely why Trusco had chosen her as his informal bedwarmer I couldn't tell, although in fairness to him the choice wasn't great. As she walked out, I saw a F on her cheek. Likely a former slave then, who'd thieved from her owners, or perhaps a petty thief who'd come up in front of a Praetor once too often; who had failed to be dissuaded from her crimes by floggings and fines. If she was the latter, my pity for her was non-existent. She'd been born a Citizen of the greatest nation ever to have existed, and had thrown it all away because of her own greed and lack of self-discipline. 

"Senior Invigilator Aurelian" I said, again showing my identification. "I'm here to locate a slave named-" I glanced at Tertullia.

"Fulvius. Aged around thirty six. Sold here six months ago. We wish to acquire him". 

He nodded - and then paused, frowning. A crafty look came into his eyes, and I winced.

Tertullia, of the two of us, is the 'softer' one. She's quiet, polite; the one who invites you into this room, sits you down in front of a recorder, and just wants to...clear some things up. She's the one who understands that it wasn't really your fault, that it was just a misunderstanding, and that really, it wasn't you, it was someone else, some other person who's letting you take the blame.

And don't get me wrong - it works, a lot, even on people who should see through it. But it usually works best when the target is, at the very least,slightly nervous, and looking for a young, kind looking woman to confide in. Trusco wasn't yet that nervous. Instead, he sensed hesitancy and weakness, and so he pounced.

"I'm always pleased to help of course" he said. He leaned back in his chair, steeping his hands in no doubt what he thought was an imposing, inscrutable manner. "But...without a warrant, its a bit difficult. And if you did have such a warrant...you'd have said." He spread his arms out wide. "I am, however, able to sell you him. And of course, since this is no doubt a matter of...State Security, I am willing to overlook some of the usual formalities."

He grinned, looking pleased with himself. I wonder what he thought we wanted Fulvius actually for. Something semi-legal, or indeed entirely illegal was my guess; but he didn't seem that curious, so long as he had a chance to benefit.

Trusco struck me as the sort of man with a dozen minor scams and fiddles running, and a corrupt man always assumes everyone else is either a fool or as corrupt as he is - or both. Few honest men of character, after all, choose to go into his job. No doubt his factory received less goods that it paid for, shipped fewer products that it produced, and his bank account was rather fatter than his salary would suggest. So long as he didn't do anything too outrageous, likely his employers wouldn't care enough to truly investigate. 

"Oh, we're willing to do it all normally" I said, quietly. "And we'll even offer....say, Five thousand."

That was, actually, reasonable, for a delictor, albeit on the low side. But he just scoffed.

"Oh, I am sorry. But I fear my employer would tear me to shreds if I accepted less than ten." He licked his lips, and I suppressed a sudden urge to strangle him. "And this is a most...unusual way to acquire a cheap slave." He paused. "Perhaps fifteen thousand, I think. Unless you do actually have a warrant." 

"Five" I said. "Come now. We both know that's reasonable."

He spread his arms. "Friend...if I may be blunt, this is all so unusual. Fifteen. Or I will have to ask you to leave."

A more astute man would have told us to leave immediately, the moment he realized there was something unusual going on. A cleverer man would have accepted the lower offer. A more cautious man would have assumed that this was Vigilium business, and simply done as we requested. A bolder man might even have tried to find out why we were so eager to purchase a specific delictor.

He was none of those. A weak, corrupt, stupid man, whose greed just outpaced his cowardice. 

"Very well" I said. I turned, as if to leave, and then said, almost idly. "We should probably report that exit, by the yard. Blocked by a skip, as I recall. Pretty sure that's a breach of building regulations."

Trusco smiled back, blandly. "As I'm sure you know, Senior Invigilator, that would only be a concern if the total staff here exceeded twenty free citizens. Slaves don't count." His eyes danced with glee. Gods, he thought that was my blackmail attempt.

"Which is curious, as I see this enterprise employs more than two hundred slaves" I said, quietly. Tertullia whistled, and then turned to me, mock-surprised.

"That can't be right, sir. Because otherwise friend Trusco here would be in breach of the Fair Employment Act. No more than ten slaves for every free man employed. Isn't that quite a serious crime, sir? Steep fines, as I recall."

Trusco paled, slightly. I sighed, playing along. 

"It wouldn't just be friend Trusco. His employers too would be liable."

Tertullia's eyes widened even further.

"But if they'd trusted Trusco to run this place...and He brought them into legal disrepute, they could sue him".

I nodded, and then looked back at Trusco, who was now looking rather less sure of himself. "Oh, at least. And if all this legal unpleasantness led to the accounts being looked through-" I shook my head, and then smiled, benignly. "Well, an audit is never pleasant, even for an honest citizen such as friend Trusco." I bowed my head to him. "But forgive our chatter, citizen. No doubt you have much work to attend to." I paused. "Accounting, for instance."

"Hold, friends" he said, holding up his hand. His eyes flicked between us. "I'm sure we can work something out."

"Like selling us what we are asking for, for three thousand?" I asked, coldly.

"T-three? I - you said five, only a minute ago!"

"Your memory is in error, citizen. For your sake I trust your accounts do not depend on it".

"Three then" he said, almost spitting. He must have pressed an intercom, for the chief overseer reappeared. 

"You know a slave called Fulvius?" Trusco almost shouted. "I want him here now." He paused. "The Vigilium...want him."  
He gave Tertullia and myself a look that went some way past hate, and then stood up, walking over to a metal cabinet. Almost wrenching open one of the drawers, he soon extracted a drab, grey paper file. He walked over to Tertullia, thrusting it at her.

"Here" he muttered. "Here's that ... man's documentation."

"Thank you, citizen" said Tertullia, smiling sweetly, as Trusco grabbed some notepaper and scribbled out, in almost impenetrable scrawl, a receipt for Tertullia. Taking another piece, he wrote a few more lines and then slid it across the desk to Tertullia.

"Sign" he snapped. "To show you've taken him off my hands." He looked at us, and for a moment his expression reminded me of one of his delictors. Hate and resentment were there, but fear stopped him from acting on it.

"Of course" said Tertullia, neatly signing her name and the date. She took out her checkbook. "To whom shall I make this out, please?"

Behind me, the door opened, and the overseer appeared, pushing a shorter, terrified looking man in front of him. His eyes darted wildly, and when he saw the blackgloves waiting for him, he audibly whimpered, turning to the overseer, who glared back, stony faced.

"Here he is. Fulvius."

"Jupiter Optimus Max, you've got the wrong person! I'm...I'm not who they want!"

"You fucking are" snapped Trusco, as Tertullia handed over the check. "He's all yours, officers."

The slave swallowed, and shook his head wildly as Tertullia and myself both turned. 

"Please, please you've got the wrong person. You've got the wrong fucking person! I haven't done anything, sir!"

Tiring of the pathetic scene, I drew my shock-baton and pointed it at the cringing slave, who looked on the verge of tears. I can't abide the whining of slaves, their snivelling. Begging and pleading are some of the things I punish my own for - a maid who drops and breaks a plate I will most likely merely rebuke and deprive of their evening meal. One who lies about it, or appeals for mercy, will be punished far more. 

"One more word or sob and I shock you" I snapped. "Be silent."

His eyes widened, tears forming and starting to run down his cheeks - likely he'd felt the kiss of a baton before, and had no wish to repeat the experience His mouth moved, but no sound emerged, as I stepped forward and grabbed him by the arm. 

I nodded my goodbyes to the two men, and then gave the slave a rough shove. "Move it, you".

**Author's Note:**

> Delictor: The Roman legal system is at once both brutal and surprisingly lenient. Even fairly serious crimes (assault, robbery) are often punished simply with a huge fine and/or a public flogging. However, persistent criminals, no matter how minor their offences, are often sentenced to "servitutem poenae expetitae" - immediate lifetime enslavement. Such criminals are used for the worst tasks in the Republic, can only be owned by approved persons, and are referred to legally as 'delictors'. However, outside of legal circles, the term is often used to describe the lowest rung of slaves - true delictors, slaves sold for disobedience, and indeed the merely unlucky. Such slaves are often branded to prevent escapes. 
> 
> Fair Employment Act: One of the Dictator Hallarticus' most enduring pieces of legislation, this act essentially forbids large scale use of slaves in any enterprise with few or none free employees. Unsurprisingly, this made Hallarticus hugely popular with the poorer Citizenry, and hugely unpopular with the richest segment of the population. Notably, several high-profile opponents of the act were amongst the first to be arrested during Hallarticus' 'Anti-Parasite Campaign' which commenced a few years later.


End file.
